Yuki No Hana
by shattered petal
Summary: Five times Tōshirō Hitsugaya gave his Lieutenant flowers. -HitsuMatsu


**author's note**: I have a new OTP, and I'm going to be writing a heck of a lot about them, so sorry if your inbox is spammed with my writing shit. Anyway, this idea just came to me on a whim and I had to write it. I hope you all enjoy.

* * *

**Title**: Yuki No Hana  
**Genres**: Romance/Angst  
**Rating**: K+  
**Couple**: Tōshirō/Rangiku

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**1.**

The first time was forced. Or, more, _commanded_ by his friend, Momo. Tōshirō Hitsugaya wasn't someone who enjoyed to be told what to do, but Momo seemed particularly enthusiastic about this, and he couldn't refuse. After his rather harsh scolding to his Lieutenant for slacking off, Hinamori believed he had been a little _too_ cruel. True, Matsumoto could be infuriatingly lazy, but, at the end of the day, she did mean well, and he would be lost without her.

Well, "lost" was a bit of an exaggeration. Tōshirō would never go _that_ far.

Maybe the flowers were an apology, he wasn't sure. In fact, Hitsugaya was only doing this for Momo. If it made his friend happy, then so be it. However, by the time he collected the bouquet, Tōshirō was sneering to himself. This was dumb; ridiculous. Only pathetic, sappy men did this when they were in love with someone. And he was _not_ in love with Rangiku!

The office was silent without Matsumoto occupying it. One didn't have to be on the lookout to know when she was approaching. That God damn voice of hers could be so shrill sometimes, and she never seemed to stop talking. Be it with a complete stranger or someone she knew, Rangiku could talk about anything. By anything, Tōshirō meant _nothing_. Most of the time she just talked about complete rubbish.

As soon as she entered the office or, rather, _barged_ into the office, Matsumoto gleefully greeted him, unaware about the fact she had a pile of paperwork waiting for her. It was doubtful she would get down to it anyway, even if he begged. Wait–– why was he giving her flowers again? If Matsumoto couldn't be arsed to work, why was he apologising?

Bloody hell. The flowers were here. He might as well give them to her. 'Matsumoto?'

'Yes, Captain?'

'I, uh...' Tōshirō cleared his throat and revealed the bouquet of flowers from under the desk. 'I have some flowers for you.'

Not to his surprise, Rangiku's response was too much for him to tolerate. 'Aww, how sweet!' Beaming, she happily took the flowers from him. 'You're not in love with me, are you?' Tōshirō scowled. 'Ahaha, I'm just kidding, Captain. But this is so adorable!' Then, to his utter horror, Matsumoto wrapped her arms around his waist and hugged him tight.

'M–– _Matsumoto_! Get off me!' She was way too affectionate for her own good, and this infuriated him. '_Matsumoto_!'

What was interesting was that she didn't ask _why_ he gave her the flowers. Tōshirō was uncertain if she should feel concerned about that. God knows what she thought he was implying with the gift, but she never brought it up again. Maybe her silence was out of respect, or maybe she wasn't that bothered about his reasoning, just the offering of flowers was enough.

Either way, at the back of his mind, he knew this wouldn't be the last time he give her such a gift.

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**2.**

On several occasions Matsumoto had called in ill. And on each said occasion, her "illness" was actually a hangover, which really didn't settle well for her Captain. When she didn't arrive to work that day, however, he had a feeling something was wrong. It wasn't a hangover that was the problem this time. When she rang, he, possibly too eagerly, picked up the phone. 'Lieutenant, where are you?'

'_Ahh... I'm sorry, Capdain Hitsugaya–– urghh... I thing I god a cold... Nose's blocked..._'

He had to admit it was amusing to hear Rangiku suffer like this, but she didn't sound very well over the phone, and he knew she wasn't acting either. Rangiku was a _horrendous_ actress and lier. She couldn't fool him. Sighing, he leaned back in his seat, raising a brow. 'Fine, but you're overdue still, Matsumoto. You will have some papers to fill in at home.'

'_Uhug, Capdain, you're so cruueel_.'

'I'm not cruel!' He retorted. 'I'm just doing my job. Even if I was ill, I'd be working too. In a couple of hours, I'll come round to yours to drop off your work, all right?'

Tōshirō heard a moan of complaint over the phone.

'Matsumoto.'

A sniffle. '_Fiiine, bud I can'd promise it'll be done_.'

'It will be––' Then he realised she had hung up. Seething, Tōshirō slammed down the phone. Damn woman. It irritated him immensely how she always seemed to skip off as soon as she admitted to be avoiding work. Sometimes he wondered why he had her as his Vice-Captain.

When he was done with the day, Tōshirō grabbed himself a bite to eat before picking a folder from the office with Rangiku's overdue paperwork. Her apartment wasn't too far away, and he easily walked there on foot. Plus, the stroll was nice, breeze cool in his snow-white hair. Along the way, he spotted a small stall in the market, selling flowers.

It was probably because he was in a good mood, but Tōshirō was slightly tempted to buy some. He wasn't sure who for, maybe for Momo or... No, not Rangiku. She didn't deserve flowers. Just because she was ill, that didn't mean he was going to be treating her with luxuries. Yet, it seemed the seller had noticed his interest and called him over.

'Buy some for your lady love, little man.'

_D–– Did he just call me __**little**_? Tōshirō threw a glare at the seller, but he wasn't looking at him. Instead, he started to arrange some flowers, a mixture of roses, violets and others. Hitsugaya stopped walking, a bit impressed at how well the florist managed to create such a beautiful bouquet in so few minutes. Once he was done, he passed the flowers over to Tōshirō.

'She'll like these. You should give them to her.'

... maybe she would like them. Hitsugaya exhaled. Seeing as he was going to be dumping work onto a poorly Rangiku, he might as well cheer her up a little. Not that she deserved his hospitality. Taking the flowers and paying for them, the small Shinigami soon reached where she was staying. After ringing the bell, he was invited in.

Yet upon raising his gaze to see his Lieutenant, he realised she sounded much worse in person than over the phone. Blowing her nose into a tissue, she motioned him inside. 'Uhm–– you're gointa h've to sday away from me, Cap'n, 's got worse.'

Admittedly Rangiku was a bit of a drama queen, but he believed her. She didn't look well at all. Raising his hand with the flowers, he outstretched them to her. 'Get well soon, Matsumoto. I hope you like them.'

Due to her cold, Matsumoto wasn't able to be as expressive as she would have liked, but he gathered her appreciative attitude. Managing a smile, she took the flowers from him. 'Mm, t'ank you, Capdain. You're dery kind.' Soon, the tissue was at her nose again. 'I'm sorry I look so awful.'

Awful? Funnily enough, Tōshirō didn't notice her appearance until she pointed it out. Her hair was a bit messier than usual, and she was more red in the face because of her cold. Maybe she didn't look as stunning, but Tōshirō didn't care. It was her personality and behaviour which mattered to him the most and, right now, her _work-ethic_ needed to change.

Slamming the folder of paperwork onto the table, he raised his chin at her. Matsumoto flopped down onto a nearby chair, eyeing the work with great distaste.

'You're no gentleman, Ca'pn.'

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**3.**

It was only after _that day_ when he realised how much he treasured her. The heartbreak was evident, her eyes no longer filled with life. Now, her gaze was dead, almost stone, and it utterly destroyed him. Tōshirō didn't realise how precious she was to him, he didn't realise how much her smiles and laughs had an impact on his life, until it was all gone. Vanished. Crumbled away like ash.

Of course he understood why she was hurt. He understood why she was barely responsive anymore, he understood why it was _so hard_ to focus on work, to stop _thinking_. Tōshirō understood why she was upset. What he just couldn't understand, however, was that, even after giving her days off, she never recovered.

The man he despised was the man she loved. And yet he had abandoned her, betrayed her. Hitsugaya wanted to scream, he wanted to know _why_ she clung onto the memory of Ichimaru. That vile creature who tore her apart. Rangiku was joy, was sunshine, and that man took all of her glory from her. So quickly.

How could Tōshirō ever forgive a beast like that?

Little did she know, with each passing day, her pain was merely tripled for him. It made him realise that he certainly wasn't a child. A child wouldn't sympathise over another's feeling in this manner, a child wouldn't hate a man for breaking the heart of a woman. A child would not realise that _she_ was everything to him.

Only a man would acknowledge his emotions. Only a man would try, try so many ways to see her smile. _All I want is to see you smile, for me, Rangiku_.

The snowdrops had been growing nearby and, without a thought, he picked them, wrapped the delicate flowers in string. Found her, and then passed them. Tōshirō was hoping she would smile, embrace him like she usually would, call him "adorable" or–– a "thank you" at least. It was odd how this boy, heart of ice, was melting, gradually but dangerously. For her.

She did smile at him. She did acknowledge the flowers, release him from their weight. Yet, he knew her too well, and he wished he didn't. Yes, she had smiled, but her smile was not genuine, wasn't _her_. Wasn't filled with the sun, and brightness. All he saw was darkness, a clouded misery, and all he could do was stand there, useless.

Pathetically.

Because he knew he could never be Gin Ichimaru. Never. He could never fix her. It was much too late.

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**4.**

Years passed, months. They were distant for a while, and he grew, matured, became older and neither noticed, trapped in their thoughts and obsessed with ghosts. Her recovery could not be offered by another individual–– she would never recover, he later discovered, and, so, he had nothing to say. Tōshirō never spoke about Ichimaru, and she never spoke about Ichimaru. She did her work, for the most part, and that was all.

While it was best, that didn't mean he preferred it this way. Tōshirō missed the Rangiku he knew. Now, she wasn't _her_, and he was desperate to tear open her soul and search for her, to find her, help her, drag her out of this Hell. Because he would go that far so she could have at least a little drop of happiness again.

It soon came to a point where he couldn't handle her agony anymore.

Tōshirō waited for her, aware she would arrive at the office to collect some work, before heading home. The same usual activity. It was the only time they spent together now–– just for work. As if being around him reminded Rangiku of Ichimaru. And that, _that_ was destructive enough. _I'm nothing like that plague_.

Maybe it was pride, maybe it was stubbornness. Whatever it was, he stayed and waited for her arrival, white roses in hand. The door opened, and his heart was in his mouth. She was surprised to see him, because he previously said he was leaving. 'Captain...?'

Then he realised it wasn't pride or stubbornness. Maybe a bit of both, but the emotion which kept him waiting, let him be patient, was different. Powerful. Dangerous. Wonderful. Tōshirō stepped over, he came close to her, so close she could feel his breath against her nose. It was odd, having her look up at him, when it felt as if she had known him as this little boy for years.

A chill lingered in his eyes, they were still, but captivating. _Freezing_. Rangiku felt cooler, aware of his spiritual essence embracing her, but she didn't move. Tōshirō, almost awkwardly, pressed the flowers to her, and she took them, dropping her gaze for a second to inspect his gift. Hitsugaya caught her lips, softly, so gently, carefully, scared he might hurt her, then pulled away slightly. His breath was sweet, of the tea he had drunk not long ago, and her hand found his arm, clung to his sleeve.

Thousands of words whirled in his mind, he was desperate to tell her he was better, that her thoughts were useless, that she had every reason to be happy. That he _wanted_ her to be happy. He had for so, _so_ long. He had been awfully patient, and she was killing him.

'You're older,' she remarked quietly, her hand brushing against his face. Rangiku felt the little stubs where he hadn't shaved, ran her hand down his rough cheek. _She hasn't noticed him ageing_. 'You didn't have to grow up so quickly, Tōshirō.'

He studied her eyes, her bright blue eyes, relieved to discover a lightness in them, a distant joy. They kissed again, slowly, gently, _patiently_. How long had it been? How long had it been since he had wished to kiss her lips? How long had it been since he had wanted to hold her tight, whisper in her ear to stay with him, and only him? To stay close. To not ever leave.

_Stay awhile, my love._

The flowers never left her grasp.

* * *

**5.**

–– 'I love you.'

They were words he would never speak, words which should never escape his lips. They would taste like poison at his tongue, a curse, a horrible, deathly curse that would haunt them forever. Yet, honesty was his strongest trait, and Tōshirō had a knack for acting without planning ahead. It was a foolish move, but since when was honesty ever heroic?

At first, he was worried he had upset her. Women were tricky, difficult to understand, and so when he watched the sadness cloud over her blue irises, he panicked, literally clung to her. However, she brought her arms around the back of his neck, pressed her body against his, and hugged him as tight as she could, scrunching her eyes closed.

Tōshirō hesitated to begin with, shocked, puzzled, but he wasted no time in returning the affection, narrowing his brows and holding her close. It felt good, having her so near, but he could hold her for years and years, and he still wouldn't feel satisfied. When he embraced her, he could still tell something was off. Something wasn't right. Happiness had not been ensured yet, and, oh, how _desperate_ he was for her to be happy again. She was such a broken cause–– how could he allow this to happen to her? Knowing this lady for so long, it was too much to bear. Sometimes, he wished they had never met.

... then he realised, life would be empty if fate were so merciful.

She shivered by his touch but was barely aware. The only thing she wanted was to be held by this man, and only this man, who loved her for everything she was. Not for her appearance, or for her personality, but her scars as well, her flaws and sadness, her haunting memories. He loved her absolutely. The Captain had offered her a gift, one she didn't deserve, but she clung to him, and he let her.

A smile stretched across her lips when their gaze met. And he, too, smiled.

'Thank you, Tōshirō.'

Maybe he would never be the right man. He was also flawed, broken, and struggling. The Captain was foolish, foolish to allow himself to surrender to emotions and _care_. People would frown, find it hard the dragon of ice had a heart. Yet, people had always frowned, always noticed, always talked, and he no longer wanted to know their thoughts.

Just hers.

For a moment, he let his hands slip from her, take the flower perched in his jacket pocket before placing it neatly into her hair. It was white, pure, beautiful, perfect, like she.

'No, Rangiku,' he said, kissing her lips once. 'I should be thanking you.'

For he would be lost without her.


End file.
